


A Study of the Veil

by byebyebluejay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Poetry, Sad, Sirius Black Dies, remus tries to bring him back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebyebluejay/pseuds/byebyebluejay
Summary: Remus, increasingly desperate, researches methods of returning Sirius to life
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 10





	A Study of the Veil

The world beyond the Veil is soft and indistinct as smoke or mist;  
With laughter still light on his lips, he swiftly sinks deep into it.  
So beautiful in life’s full flush, with no corpse to remark his death,  
My last sight of my old friend’s smile, before I lose him to the haze.  
The memory is still sharp now, but dulling fast against the days:  
The wear of time and sorrow’s salt can blunt the edge of any wit.  
And how does time pass through the Veil? Does he still feel the minutes march?  
Does he remember his own name, and does his tongue remember mine?  
No flesh to halt the creeping fog, no body to resist its press,  
Could force of will and spite alone sustain him among their pale ranks?  
Unspeakables turn me away: its truth is not for civil minds.  
The old tomes are dispiriting, revealing just enough to tease.  
I lose myself between bindings: their words eat up my conscious mind  
Throw off the rhythm of my thoughts, leave gaping spaces where  
I once lived my daily life and considered mundaner things.   
But in my dreams I see him still, untouched by years of grief and pain,  
And I can see it in his eyes that if I only called for him  
In such a way that he could hear—if I could just draw back the Veil—  
I’d have my Star back by my side, as vivid as that final breath,  
As vital as the summers spent beneath the spangled galaxy,  
Lungs full of vibrant summer air, limbs tangled in the dewy grass,  
Full of the vigor of shared youth, each drinking in the other’s sun.   
The contrast makes my bedsheets cold, the books less friendly in my hand,  
My social graces lose their grace, my chest still aching for his loss.  
I seek out still more cryptic texts, pore over cluttered lines of runes,  
Until my head aches like my joints, and still my efforts are lukewarm.  
The books discourage summer thoughts from finding purchase in my plans:  
When one transcends their mortal coil, they cannot linger on the Earth,  
Or if they do they’ll never find a way to step back through the Veil.   
But traveling beyond the Veil, preserving my yet beating heart—  
A tourist to the chilling mists—I still might find my lost love there.  
No prohibition in the lore, and though the paper’s frail with age,  
The leather slowly moldering, the ink discolored on the page,  
I translate an old recipe, unique in its simplicity:  
A simmered stew of hemlock leaves and powdered root of asphodel,  
And purpose—iron, anchoring, with strength of will enough to stay  
Against the subtle draw of peace that’s promised by the beckoning grey.  
None have sufficient quality to keep full rooted to the earth   
The subscript says, and seems to laugh, to spite my cracked-rib, black-eyed hopes.  
But whose purpose could be as strong, whose motivations quite as pure,  
As lending hand or heart or arm to beating back the swelling horde  
That looms like storm clouds overhead of children, friends and innocents?   
And so I make the humble brew of hemlock and white asphodel,  
I light the candles, draw the runes, record this tale of my attempt,  
Then I shall think on what I have, and who it is I hope to find.  
My eyes are aching without sleep, each tendon of my body pains  
But when I think of him, I find it swiftly, sweetly drifts away.  
I hope that I may visit him, I hope this visit’s not my last,  
I hope my research paves the way for more post-mortal reunions,  
I hope—I raise the vial now—what follows recounts my success.


End file.
